A friend just sent me this beautiful story:
A few years ago, when he was quite old & frail, I heard Krishnamurti address a large assembly. He spoke in his accustomed softness & care for a few minutes before calling on a guy who had raised his hand with a question. Krishnamurti answered slowly, then stopped & began again, then stopped again. He said his aging had caused him to be less sharp & would the fellow just come down & hold his hand. It was a teaching for us all that some day all that might be left of us is our love.
To which I might add: Why wait till then?